


A Moment's Peace

by sparxwrites



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Body Image, Communication, Date Night, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Insecurity, M/M, Negotiations, Relaxation, Scars, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23246380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: “You don’t look well, Shaun.”In which Vax and Gilmore snatch a moment - amidst the madness of the Chroma Conclave - to have a quiet evening in, a moment's tenderness, and a talk about their relationship.
Relationships: Shaun Gilmore/Vax'ildan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 108
Collections: Folk Tales of Exandria





	A Moment's Peace

“You don’t look well, Shaun.”

Gilmore, to his credit, didn’t jump. He did, however, spin around with surprising grace and speed for a man of his size who’d recently been mauled by a dragon, and send a reflex bolt of arcane energy directly into his boyfriend’s face.

“Shit!” Vax ducked, just in time. He still felt the bolt sizzle over his head, though, raising the hairs on the back of his neck – when he straightened up and looked over his shoulder, there was a scorch mark on the wall behind him. “What kind of a welcome is that for your poor boyfriend? I come to cheer you up–” He shrugged the bag he’d been carrying off his shoulder, holding it up as a peace offering. “–and you try to take my head off!”

“Sorry, dear boy.” Gilmore winced, apologetic, as he lowered his hands and opened his arms for Vax to fall into. “It’s just been a long, _long_ day. I’m a little on edge.” And more than a little paranoid after the incident with the Rakshasa, though he didn’t feel like having _that_ particular argument again. “Though, perhaps if you didn’t insist on crawling through the window every time you wanted to visit, and instead knocked on the door…”

Vax hummed, eyes half-lidded as the tension drained from his body in the soft warmth of Gilmore’s arms. “S’okay. I forgive you.”

He’d meant to be here earlier, to slip away right after the seemingly endless meeting that had taken place in the wake of Vorugal’s flyover. But Percival had cornered him, and then there had been the shrine, and a _conversation_ , neither of which had improved his mood or general stress levels. Still, he was here now, in his partner’s arms for what felt like the first time in _forever_ , and they had they the whole evening together. An unprecedented luxury, for them.

“I brought wine, by the way,” said Vax against Gilmore’s neck, when the silence stretched on long enough that he half worried Gilmore had fallen asleep standing up. He wouldn’t be surprised – he hadn’t been lying when he’d said Shaun looked ill. “And massage oil, and some other… goodies.”

Groaning theatrically, Gilmore pulled back from the hug so he could look Vax in the eye, before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “This,” he declared, disentangling himself and crossing the room to retrieve some glasses from the drinks cabinet across the room, dangling them casually from one hand, “is why you’re my favourite, Vax’ildan.”

“I thought I was your favourite because of my good looks and roguish charm?” Vax pouted, cocked an eyebrow, mock-offended – though he followed Gilmore to the coffee table nonetheless, pressing a kiss to the back of the other man’s head as he leant to set the glasses down.

“That too,” agreed Gilmore, easily. He held out a hand and Vax obligingly filled it with a wine bottle, setting the bag and the remainder of its contents down on the sofa.

Whilst he poured them each a generous glass, Vax had the opportunity to scrutinise him a little more carefully, and the unease he’d felt when he’d first slipped through the window returned to him. There were dark circles under Gilmore’s eyes, no doubt evidence of the strain of pouring energy into the barrier around Whitestone earlier that day – but even beyond that, he looked pale, wan, thinner than when Vax had seen him last. There was a stiffness to his movements, too, that hadn’t been there before, a slight hitching hesitance around his stomach that Vax wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking for it.

“You okay, Shaun?” he asked, quietly, face creased with gentle worry even as he accepted the glass Gilmore offered him – noting the slight wince as the other man straightened up, the quickly-stilled tremor in his hand belied by traitorous ripples in the wine. “I wasn’t kidding earlier, before you tried to take my hair off. You look… sick.”

“Me? Unwell?” Gilmore smiled tiredly, though it hardly reached his eyes, and took a gulp of wine to hide it. “Nonsense, dear boy. Just a little tired. Like I said earlier, I could do with a spa day, and… well, it looks like you’re _generously_ going to provide it.”

He shifted, leaning into Vax, wine-pinked lips searching for the other man’s in a blatant attempt at redirecting the conversation.

Vax was not quite so easily lead astray, however. “No,” he said, tilting his head to take his lips out of reach of Gilmore’s questing mouth with, frankly, a heroic effort of will. “No, you’re not distracting me on this one.” His fingers caught the waist of Gilmore’s robe, where it hung draped over the tight knot of his belt. “Is it-” He hesitated. “Thordak? Are the scars still bothering you? Or…” 

Wincing, Gilmore inclined his head wearily. “It’s…” He sighed, taking another sip of wine, before setting his glass down on the coffee table again. “It’s nothing. Really. Just some- residual stiffness. The healers here are _very_ competent, though, it should–”

“Let me see?”

Gilmore stared at him, evenly, his eyes searching Vax’s face for– _something_. Vax wasn’t sure what, but he did his best to keep his expression neutral, _gentle_ , nonetheless.

“It’s not… pretty, Vax’ildan,” he said eventually, softly, and if Vax didn’t know better, he’d think there was _anxiety_ in that voice. But Gilmore didn’t get anxious, didn’t get afraid, especially over something as petty as _scars_. “Your Pike, the healers, they’ve done their best, but even so…”

_But even so_ , walking away from being mauled by a dragon was not something one did lightly, Glorious Gilmore or no.

“I’ve seen scars before, Shaun.” Vax tried to keep his voice soft, understanding, rather than dismissive or scared. What could he possibly look like underneath that robe of his? What could possibly be bad enough for him to think that _Vax_ , his lover, an _adventurer_ with more than his own fair share of scars, would shy away from it? “Whatever you’ve got hiding under that shirt of yours, I’m pretty sure Percy’s got you beat. He’s more scar than skin, that one.”

Gilmore didn’t laugh. Instead, his hands moved to the knotted cord around his waist that was keeping the robe closed – and was that a trick of the low, flickering torchlight, or were his hands shaking? – and began to undo it, in silence.

When the robe finally hit the floor, Vax couldn’t help the way his breath caught in his chest.

“Gods– _Shaun_ ,” he murmured, faintly, reaching a hand out to the trace the line of the largest, thickest scar with a gentleness akin to horror-reverence in his touch. “That’s... I hadn’t _realised_.” And he hadn’t, truly. He hadn’t grasped the extent of the scarring, the depth of it, the _violence_ of it. Thick, jagged ropes of purple-red scar tissue cut across the warm, soft brown of his stomach and lower chest, tugging and warping at the skin around them as they went. They looked tense, gnarled and uncomfortable, and Vax ached to put his hands on them, to rub and massage and soothe.

But, though the scarring was awful, it was the _smallness_ that scared Vax the most. 

There had never been anything small about Gilmore – not his body, not his personality, not his voice – but Vax struggled to think of another word to describe him right now. Thin, scarred, with sunken eyes and a slight tremor to his hands, he looked… hollowed out. _Shrunken_.

It was a yet another sobering reminder of the damage the Conclave had done; the damage it was still doing, in the cities where it had taken root.

“You don’t like them?” The note of self-consciousness was lurking just below the surface of lilting, forced amusement, buried perhaps not as deep or as well as Gilmore might have liked. Vax could hear it, plain as a bell, and it broke his heart. “I thought they were rather dashing, myself.”

“No, no! Gods, no, they’re- well.” Vax grinned, a little lopsidedly, stepping forward until he was close enough to press a kiss to his boyfriend’s neck. “You know my stance on this, Shaun, you could have the _plague_ and still be sexy–”

Shaun winced. “ _Thank_ you, for that _charming_ mental image.”

“–so you’re certainly not going to get rid of me _that_ easily. But I just…” Vax sighed, pressing his face into the soft, familiar curtain of Gilmore’s hair. It smelled of sandalwood and spice, even after the weeks away from his glorious shop and fancy bathhouse, in the middle of a Whitestone winter. A comforting smell, and a refreshing after weeks on the road with mud and gore and sweaty adventurer in his nostrils. “Gods, Shaun, they’re a _lot_. You nearly _died_. And here you are, protecting a city, pouring your energy into that barrier. That can’t be good for you, it just _can’t_. You’ve– you’ve lost weight, you look like you haven’t slept in a week, you look _sick_ –”

“ _Vax_.” Gilmore pressed a hand to Vax’s hip, tugging him back and away so their eyes could meet, his tone already turning soft and conciliatory, persuasive. “Vax’ildan, I am perfectly–”

“Don’t bullshit me, Gil!”

The vehemence with which he spoke surprised them both. Gilmore flinched; Vax took a step back, as if his retreat could retract the words, too. They seemed to hang in the air between them, frozen, unpleasant.

Vax sighed, dragging a hand down his face and resisting the urge to slink off into the shadows in shame. “…I’m sorry. That was out of order. I’m just– I’m just _worried_ about you, Shaun. With everything that’s happened, and with me being away so much…”

And that was the kicker, wasn’t it? Shaun, ill, stressed, busy, and stuck in Whitestone, whilst Vax went gallivanting off to gods-know-where. He didn’t feel like he had much room to complain – Whitestone was safer than the Feywild by a mile now it was vampire-free, if anything it was _Shaun_ who should be fussing – but he hated being away from those he loved. Hated not knowing, not being able to check in, not being _there_.

He loved Vox Machina, loved his _family_ , and he knew they were doing what was necessary to stop the Chroma Conclave. But every day away from Shaun gnawed at him, a wolf at his heels.

“I… should apologise too.” Gilmore’s lips twisted into a grimace, and he sunk down onto the low couch behind him with a soft groan. “I am– you must understand, dear boy, it’s been… a while. Since I had something like this, a confidante, a–”

“A lover?” asked Vax, one eyebrow cocked.

Gilmore chuckled. “Oh no,” he said, “I’ve had plenty of those. No, more– a _partner_. Someone to rely on. I am used to, as you so eloquently put it, _bullshitting_.”

He sighed, and it was like watching a mask drop away. The smile, the sparkle in his eye, the straight spine and proud set of his shoulders… He seemed to curl in on himself, the lines around his eyes and mouth deepening with stress-pain, the shadows that spoke of sleepless nights seeming to darken. Though he still smiled, it was smaller, a soft thing rather than the usual blinding glow of his grins.

It was, in a way, more _honest_ though – and Vax treasured it all the more for knowing how hard it was for Gilmore to show even this small sign of weakness.

“Yes. Yes, I am– unwell,” said Gilmore, low and quiet. “The scars hurt, I am _exhausted_ , the constant healing makes drains me _terribly_ –” He dragged a hand across his face, and Vax was horrified to see a wetness in them, a glimmer along the line of his lower lid. “And the energy it takes to power this barrier is– phenomenal, at the best of times. I fear I have overstrained myself rather badly today – but I cannot afford the rest I need, not until this–” He waved a vague hand, encompassing the city, the _world_ , the thrice-damned dragons in a single movement. “–is all over.”

“Shaun…” breathed Vax, softly, his heart aching.

Gilmore smiled, slightly, and the raw vulnerability that had so briefly graced his features was once again tucked neatly back behind the mask. “It’s not an ideal situation, my dear boy,” he said, gently, reaching for Vax – and Vax went willingly, folding into his arms, wrapping hands around the unfamiliar boniness of Gilmore’s form and pressing his face into the familiar space in Shaun’s neck that it fit so well. Gilmore sighed again, heavily, and clung to Vax like a man drowning. “Not for you, or for me, or for the thousands of others hurt or displaced or grieving in these dark times.”

For a long moment, they simply stood there, holding one another. Vax’s hand found the line of Gilmore’s bare spine, and traced it, fingers rubbing soothing arcs over the other man’s skin – heedless of the mountains and valleys of the scar tissue – until Gilmore had had a chance to compose himself.

When he finally felt it safe, Vax pulled away slowly, and cupped Gilmore’s face with careful hands. “Tell me what you need, Shaun,” he said, quietly, his gaze locked on his boyfriend’s face, searching for any hint of the mask being pulled back up. “I– I can’t fix this, not right now, not all at once. I know that. But I’m here for now, for tonight. So tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you. Whatever it is.”

“ _Well_ ,” said Gilmore, and if his thinness and tiredness and the hurt upon his face were unfamiliar, the teasing note of mischief in his voice was still familiar as breathing. “You _did_ promise me a spa day when you snuck in here, if I remember correctly – and I do hope you’ve brought more than one bottle of wine, by the way, because I do take my relaxation _seriously_. As you well know.” He winked, grinned, and there was a spark of his old energy in the motion that uncoiled the knot of worry in Vax’s stomach somewhat. “And after that… Well. If you haven’t relaxed me into a sleep so deep even your kiss couldn’t wake me… We can think of a thing or two to do, perhaps.”

Vax grinned, kissing his boyfriend’s nose, and then his lips, before catching one wrist in his hand and tugging Gilmore over to the abandoned couch. “Oh, really?” he said, one eyebrow cocked as he handed Gilmore his half-drunk glass of wine to finish, and began emptying the rest of the bag onto the coffee table – a variety of oils, lotions, and other fun presents. “Well, I’ve got _three_ bottles, and all of this lot, and– _well_. If _that_ doesn’t manage to tire you out, I’m _sure_ I can think of something…”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the @folktalesofexandria zine, over on tumblr, which I ran last year. Now the books have been shipped and people have had them for a while, the authors (including me!) are all posting our fics to tumblr and AO3 - keep an eye on the collection for more Vox Machina stories from some of the best bards in the fandom!
> 
> As always, find me on tumblr @sparxwrites for more content.


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